


In Your Arms

by ponderinfrustration



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982), The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Percy and Marguerite are intimate on the yacht at the end.





	In Your Arms

His kisses are soft, almost delicate. If she had been asked she might have expected rough-edged desperation - a man always on the run, hiding behind one mask or another, how could his love-making be anything _but_ desperate? But had she been asked she would have been wrong. He is gentle, infinitely gentle, his fingers light ghosting up her sides and she cannot help but shudder, his tongue slipping between her lips.

He tastes of tea, of honey, of the strawberries they fed each other and when she asked him how he came to have strawberries on his yacht he only smiled that secretive, knowing smile, and leaned in to capture her lips again.

Some things are perhaps best left unknown.

His fingers trail over her breast, cup it delicately, and all such thoughts of what they snacked on are banished from her mind. He moans into her mouth, shifting on top of her, the weight of him heavy but not unpleasant, and she slips her hand up, up under the undershirt he still wears, buttons pulled open, to rest on the warm planes of his back. Such a strong back, the muscles shifting beneath her touch as he aligns their hips more correctly, and she arches into him to help him.

He breaks the kiss, kisses the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her chin, her throat, kiss after kiss after kiss a trail down to her collarbone, each faint press of his lips stirring the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

"Your permission, Madame?" his breath is warm against her skin as he breathes the words and a giggle bubbles up inside of her. Him? Her husband? Asking if he can make love to her as politely as if he is taking her hand at a ball? It is almost absurd!

She inclines her head, and presses a kiss to his hair. "Granted," she breathes, and sinks deeper into the pillows.

He sighs and shifts again, and it stings for only a moment as he enters her. His kisses stutter as he moves, slowly and carefully as if he might hurt her, and she catches her fingers in his hair, her heart pounding because it does hurt, just a bit, but not in a bad way more a full way, as if this is normal, as if he is always supposed to be inside of her. And he moves faster, in and out and in and out, never quite coming out, not fully, and he's gasping too, gasping hard against her skin and she can feel his heart pounding through his chest, pounding next to hers and stars burst behind her eyes, the tightness in her navel spreading through her, spreading until it bursts too and there is only warmth seeping through her blood, seeping.

He falters in his rhythm, in and out and in and a catch and she is floating, floating, and as if at a distance she hears a faintly strangled "Sink me" before he collapses on top of her gasping, his head pillowed on her breasts.

They lie there like that a long time, tangled in each other as their breathing settles. He kisses the side of her breast gently, nuzzles in, and she sighs and draws him closer, combs her fingers through his hair. 

Her husband. Her wonderful, amazing, surprising husband. How could she ever have doubted him? Ever have thought ill of him? She knew, has always known, that there is more to him than appears on the surface, but she never thought, never suspected.

Tears spring to her eyes, and she blinks them away. She will not cry now, not after that, even with the tightness in her throat, but she loves him. Oh, how she loves him.

"Odds fish, m'dear," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and muffled by her breast, "that was wonderful."

Sleep tugs heavy at her eyelids, and she sighs, a smile twitching at her lips. "Mhmm. That demmed Pimpernel has much to answer for."

He chuckles and lifts himself at last from her breast, his face soft in the darkness as he smiles down at her. "That he does, Madame," and he presses his lips to hers, "That he does."


End file.
